Day 1
The office was located in Seocho-gu. It was a towering skyscraper with multiple rotating doors churning with people in smart corporate attires, leaving the building. There wasn’t a rush but there was a slow constant flow of employees coming out. It was ten past five, but this was South Korea. She guessed going over time was normal practice.
The lobby was intimidating for its sheer space. The building was equipped with a row of turnstiles. She went to the front desk, heart beating slightly faster than usual. It was ingrained in her bones to feel insecure in the midst of corporate elegance and extravagance. She was definitely a fish out of water.
“Hi, I’m here for an appointment.” She held up her phone with the QR code sent to her yesterday. A tiny shiver ran through her spine. It was amazing how a digital thumbnail could open a door to a different world. Or maybe it was the air-conditioned lobby with the mirrored walls that sent the chill.
Unsurprisingly, the front desk spoke English. “Hello! Of course. May I have an identification please?”
“Sure thing.” She showed her ACR while the lady scanned the QR.
After the quick verification, she was handed a visitor’s pass and given elevator instructions. The receptionist called a security staff to assist her. Franky thanked the nice lady and followed the guard. He showed her where to tap at the turnstile and which elevator to use and bowed politely when the elevator doors closed. A voice announced in both Korean and English that she was going to the 26th floor. The highest number was 35. A minute later, the elevator dinged, a short metallic note and the doors slid open with effortless precision. The hallway led directly to another reception desk, much smaller but not less elegant.
Another young and pretty lady sat behind the desk. She looked up as she approached, already politely smiling. As soon as she reached the desk, she greeted, “You must be Ms. Francesca Luna.”
“Right.”
The lady stood up. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, this way.”
Franky followed her into the office. She walked through an open floor plan with desks adequately spaced, spotless and each with a glowing monitor and neatly stacked paper. They stopped at a desk close to a double door. She was handed over to another lady who ushered her through the double door that led into what looked like a very important person’s office. There was a small receiving area with a complete sofa set, shelves full of books framed a floor to ceiling glass window, and a rich mahogany desk at the center.
“Mr. Han is still in a meeting. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good. Thank you.”
“I’ll be right outside. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do, thanks.”
She felt as if she had walked into a set. She felt so out of place. But she remembered she was here for a potential job. The day before yesterday, Seo-yeon had called her to beg her to take a special job. Her dad frantically and urgently needed a Spanish language tutor for a client. He needed someone he could trust and Seo-yeon thought of her instantly. Seo-yeon had guaranteed that she’d take the job as soon as she met the client. Franky was intrigued.
She knew Seo-yeon’s dad was a head honcho of a huge corporate law firm. When Franky had asked if she’d be teaching some grumpy old business tycoon, Seo-yeon had confirmed he’d be very much like that. An image of a handsome old man with salt and pepper hair flashed in her mind. The type she saw in dramas who were always opposed to their son marrying a lowly commoner. She had one such client before. He was intense and kept her on her toes, but he was extremely generous with the pay.
Franky had first suggested looking for a local who spoke Spanish or a Spanish who spoke another language, but Seo-yeon quickly dismissed the ideas. Her father had already tried those, but had found security issues. It had been a casual shop talk over dinner. Seo-yeon had been aghast at the fact that he never mentioned it before because she had the perfect candidate. With Seo-yeon to vouch for her, the job was as good as hers should she agree.
Yesterday evening, Mr. Han called her as Seo-yeon had said.
“As my daughter has probably mentioned, I need someone to teach my client Spanish and I need one urgently,” he said after the polite greetings and introductions. His English was slightly heavily accented but clear. “My daughter mentioned that you speak the language and you are a professional English teacher with extensive experience in teaching internationally.”
“Did you want me to send a CV?” Seo-yeon hadn’t asked for one. She did send her a copy of her ACR. She was pretty sure a bigshot lawyer can dig up a lot from that.
“No, it’s fine. CVs are the most unreliable things.” He momentarily spoke something in Korean to someone. “How long did you stay in Spain?”
He didn’t need a CV but he would want to know her work experience so she gave him bullet points.
“About 7 years. I went there as an au pair, got a certification for teaching English, then became a language assistant for two years. After that, I was employed at a private school and taught English to high school students for four years.”
“What made you come to Korea?”
“Change of everything. I actually wanted to go back to the Philippines but I thought I should try either Japan or Korea before going. Seo-yeon told me she’d have my back if I chose Korea, so I came. It’s much easier to get my visa sorted out if I came from Europe rather than going back to the Philippines and processing from there.”
“What do you plan on doing in the Philippines?”
“Maybe public school. Before leaving for Spain, I got a professional teaching license in the Philippines and taught there for three years. I don’t know anything else but to teach.”
“So you came to Korea on a student visa so you could go back to the Philippines and teach in public school. Do I understand that correctly?”
That did sound convoluted, Franky admitted. “I don’t make concrete plans. That is still the most viable option because I haven’t decided if I want to stay in Korea. Maybe I’ll try out Japan next and see what I want to do after. I do want to experience a different culture and learn a new language. If nothing works, I’ll just go back to the Philippines or maybe Vietnam or Thailand.”
“I see. Honestly, I am willing to hire you for the sole reason that my daughter trusts you and that you have worked in Spain for many years. However, this is a sensitive case and I suggest that you meet my client first and think about it.”
When Seo-yeon mentioned that there were security issues that prevented her father from hiring, Franky knew this was going to be complicated. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mr. Han gave her the time and place and that was the extent of the initial interview. So there she was in the office, about to meet a potential student.
Franky’s eyes explored the room for a bit, but she came here right out of an intensive two-hour extra class and took the subway. The wonder could only hold her attention for a brief moment. She settled on the sofa, setting her small backpack next to her. After ten minutes of waiting, the sofa became too comfortable to stay upright. She moved to one end and tested leaning her head on the arm. Another ten minutes passed and she took off her shoes and brought her legs up to the seat, folding them neatly under her. She was confident that she’d hear a person at the door and her reflexes would literally straighten her up. She started to doze off. She was starting to take the catnap into dog level.
She felt a tap on her shoulder. She sprung up and swiped the back of her hand across the corners of her mouth in case there was drool. She unfolded her legs and planted them back on the floor to slip her shoes back on. “Sorry, I dozed off.”
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” An elderly gentleman stood before her. He had one hand extended. “My name is Han Min Soo. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She shook his hand and was about to get up but he waved her off. “Francesca Camille Luna. Nice to meet you.”
“My daughter calls you Franky.”
“Yes.”
He moved to his table and Franky only then noticed the man sitting in front of her, across the sofa, typing on his phone. A black baseball cap covered his face. “I thought she’d be older.” He spoke in Korean.
Mr. Han went to his desk, sat and started shuffling papers. “She does look young but she’s only a year younger than you, 31.”
“And Seo-yeon guarantees that she can be trusted?”
“She said I could bet my job on it.”
Franky silently watched the exchange. Seo-yeon had probably mentioned that she understood Korean but Mr. Han didn’t seem to mind. She felt the weight of Seo-yeon’s trust and asked herself what she got herself into.
The secretary came in and set a tray down on the coffee table. There was a plate of pasta, probably aglio e oglio, and a glass of water. The man disengaged from his phone. He put it aside. He took the glass off the tray and took the whole tray with the pasta to his lap.
“So you consider yourself fluent in Spanish?” The man finally spoke in English and he spoke with a posh British accent without any hint of Korean. He started eating his pasta.
“I probably won’t understand highly technical or intensely poetic material, and my Spanish is not as good as my English, but I could pass for a Latin American or a second generation immigrant while I was in Spain. Of course, I took the DELE which is a widely-accepted Spanish language test. I got a C1 without a formal review. And you’re Choi Ji-han.”
It took a while for Franky to confirm the man’s identity, but it was like doing a facial recognition process in her head, scanning the angles that her eyes could see as he dug into his pasta. Once the scanning was completed, the recognition was immediate.
He finally looked up and faced her squarely instead of just casually throwing her a glance while concentrating on the pasta. “Yes. Do you want some pasta?”
“No, thank you. You’re Choi Ji-han.” She actually said that to herself, unable to fully believe she was in the presence of such a beautiful specimen of a human being. Were they even of the same species, she wondered.
“Yes, we have established that. I’d like to know—”
“Before I left the Philippines for a brief visit, your ‘Runaway, Mr. Right’ had just finished airing and by the end of the series, every female who had seen it was love-struck.” Franky was waiting for him to say he was kidding and he wasn’t actually that famous actor.
Instead, he asked casually, “Have you seen it?”
“Is that a job requirement?” Franky smiled at him and it seemed to disarm him from the way he stopped chewing for a second. “I’m kidding. Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“Are you one of his love-struck fans?” This was from Mr. Han.
He had probably asked Seo-yeon if Franky was a big K-Drama fan and Seo-yeon would have admitted that she wasn’t sure. They didn’t talk about Kdramas and Franky wasn’t the type who gets obsessed about mundane things like celebrities.
“The brooding leading men do have a certain appeal but I go for the support like Jeon Min-Jae’s character in that drama. Cute and fun and loyal.”
“Like a dog.” He continued eating.
“Exactly. I love dogs.” Then it suddenly dawned on her that there was a more pressing matter she needed to clarify. “Wait, you’re not going to be my student, are you?”
“You’d rather it be Jeon Min-Jae?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say no to that but that’s not what I meant. Seo-yeon told me I’d be teaching Mr. Han’s senior. He’d be ugly and old and bossy and miserable.”
Mr. Han softly chuckled. “She was probably picturing him in the future.”
Franky’s eyes had not left Ji-han’s who didn’t flinch. “What are you doing here? What am I doing here?”
“You’re both here to see if you can work together,” Mr. Han answered.
“But you’re an A-list celebrity. You can hire a native-speaking teacher or coach.”
“That surely is an option,” Mr. Han continued to answer, “but Ji-han has a different arrangement in mind.”
The celebrity took a sip of water. “I want a live-in tutor.”
Franky burst out laughing. “So if I pass this interview, you’d want me to live with you?”
“Would you rather I live with you?”
She laughed harder because he said it too coolly.
“Why is that funny?” It wasn’t an attack. It was an actual inquiry.
“Because it’s absurd. How can you invite a stranger to your house willy-nilly?”
“I had the same initial reaction,” Mr. Han injected.
Ji-han leaned back. “I have a very demanding schedule and it’s easier for my security personnel to monitor.”
Mr. Han felt like he needed to add an assurance. “You have to understand the security measures we have to take.”
Franky nodded. “I get that, but you don’t exactly know me. What if I leak photos and stuff?”
“You’d be the only one staying in the same house, so we’d know you’re the culprit,” Ji-han spoke matter-of-factly. He sounded like someone who was very patient because he knew that everything eventually went his way.
Franky admitted that it made sense but it didn’t seem to add up in her life story. “What if I start rumors?”
Mr. Han put the paper he was working on aside to give her his full attention. “What social media app do you have on your phone now, Ms. Luna?”
“Does Facebook Messenger and Kakao count?”
“Excluding messaging platforms.”
Franky took a deep breath. She guessed they wanted a background check on her and found none from social media. “So you know that I’m not active on social media. It doesn’t mean I can be trusted.”
“You haven’t had a significant other in the last few years. You chose a more intense and academic program for your Korean studies because you don’t want the cultural stuff. You don’t want to be forced to mingle.”
Seo-yeon must have been interviewed even more rigorously.
“You travel alone. You like being alone. The only reason you’ve stayed friends with my daughter is that she stuck to you like glue while she was in Spain and you just probably got used to having her around.”
Franky squinted, admitting to herself that it stung a bit when he put it that way. “So, if I go missing, it will be some time before someone notices I’m missing.”
Ji-han put the tray with the empty plate down. “You watch too much drama.”
“Well, you’ve been in so many of them, you should know better.”
He sat back and crossed his leg. “If you gather all the bad publicity out there about me, you won’t find anything to do with violence or sexual harassment.”
That made her curious about what she’d find instead. “Maybe you’re just really good at hiding them or paying people off.”
He crossed his arms in front of him and shrugged. “That could be plausible, I suppose.” He leaned forward. “I have no other way to convince you to trust that I’m not a psychopath. You only have Seo-yeon’s word and the internet. What are you going to do about it?”
Franky leaned back, mirroring his crossed legs and arms. “That’s true. But how are you so convinced that you can trust me enough to let me live with you? It just doesn’t make sense. It’s not to say that I’m not a trustworthy person, but I could just be saying all this. What makes you think I haven’t planned this? Maybe I knew Seo-yeon’s dad was connected to big shot celebrities and maybe I got close to her exactly for this purpose? Maybe I’m actually a grifter operating scams on an international level. I mean not that I’d actually have the patience and foresight of a successful fraudster.” When she grasped for air, she knew she had talked too much.
Mr. Han only looked to Ji-han for some sort of response, but Ji-han seemed only half listening. She raised her brow. “Well?”
“That was a mouthful. My brain is still trying to digest.” He explained calmly, which made it even more annoying for Franky.
She was tempted to take a sip from Ji-han’s water but restrained herself. “Why do you want to learn Spanish, anyway?”
“For work.”
Again, Franky waited for longer exposition but nothing. She sighed deeply and said, “I’m going to refuse.”
“Why?” For the first time, he showed a tiny bit of annoyance.
“You of all people know what happens in cohabitation tropes.”
He sighed and sat back again, seemingly relieved. “What happens?”
“One of us is going to end up with a broken heart and it’s most likely going to be me.” Franky mused out loud.
Mr. Han found himself pausing from the paperwork. He looked at Franky then at Ji-han, suddenly curious about what would happen next.
“The main reason I’m not attached,” Franky continued, “is that I don’t meet a lot of people and I don’t spend enough time with one guy to get to know him enough to get attached. The cohabitation trope is a trope because intimacy draws people together. You put me in a closed space with someone like you, and who am I to resist?”
“How about I pretend to be gay?” He was as nonchalant as she was.
“With those looks, it probably wouldn’t matter even if you’re actually gay. I’d still end up with a broken heart.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “I understand that you’re on a student visa.”
Franky nodded.
“So, your second term has already been paid, yes?”
“Yes.”
“My offer then is that if this works out, I’ll pay for your next student visa as compensation. That’s the next two terms.”
Franky’s eyes grew wide. “The whole thing?”
“Yes. Now, if you decide not to continue with the language program and leave, I’ll transfer the amount once you’re out of the country.” He leaned back. “Of course, while on trial period, I’d pay for your rent.”
She did something between a sigh and a gasp. The main reason she was having difficulty deciding whether to continue her stay or refund her term two tuition was that she had already half drained her savings. She had online tutorials on the side but that was just to put instant noodles in her mouth. If she got through this, by the end of her term two, she’d be allowed to work part-time, legally, if she chose to extend her student visa. If she chose to leave, she’d have a comfy little nest egg to sit on while she figured out what to do next.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Ji-han took it as casually as she changed her mind. “What about the broken heart?”
She shrugged. “I’ll get over it. I’ll just cry, get depressed a bit, then move on.”
“But what if you break my heart?” he asked in a tone that was more curious than earnest. As if genuinely wondering.
Franky cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Pay me to fix it?”
Mr. Han couldn’t tell if either of them was serious. “Do you hear yourselves?”
Franky shifted in her seat to be even more comfortable. “The fact that you’re willing to let me live with you just shows how confident you are that that’s not going to happen. So, let’s do it.”
“Just a few things.” Ji-han drummed his lovely fingers on the arm of the chair. “I like my space clean and organized. Nothing will be off limits in the house except my bedroom, but make sure to maintain neatness.”
Franky nodded. “I’ll keep in mind that I’m a guest. I have one rule. It’s a rule, not a request.”
“And that is?”
“You have to remember that I’m not your employee. I’m your teacher.”
He met her gaze squarely. ” So I can’t boss YOU around but you can boss ME around?”
Franky smiled unabashedly. “I’ve met parents who think they can do my job better than me just because they think they know what’s best for their child. And I’ve seen bosses cave in to these parents because of the money they bring in. It’s always the child that suffers and often they’re not even aware of it. I’m just saying I should be in charge of your learning.”
Ji-han nodded. “Anyway, let’s do a short probationary period. How many weeks until your term is over?”
Franky noted that the way he nodded was dismissive but in a way that he knew and it was obvious. “We actually end next week.”
“And your next term starts when?”
“I get a two-week term break, then term two. The thing is, I’m not even sure I’d continue with the second term.”
“We’ll do a one-week trial. After that you still have plenty of time to decide what to do next. That’s still enough time, right, Samchon?” He turned to Mr. Han.
Franky noted the way he addressed Mr. Han. It explained a lot. They were not simply service-provider and client. Ji-han called Mr. Han uncle. Now it made sense why Seo-yeon’s words held so much weight.
Mr. Han was leaning back on his chair enjoying the show. “Yes, that’s plenty. If either of you does not push through, you can still refund your money from the university within two weeks. If all goes well, you’ll get on with your second term and then after that, you’re set, no matter what you choose to do next.”
Franky remembered something. “Wait, do you smoke or vape? I don’t want to die of lung cancer, especially if it’s only second-hand.”
“Not a smoker, not much of a drinker either. Are you? I don’t want to clean up vomit.”
“I drink occasionally, but not much because I don’t want to clean up vomit either.” She tried to think if she missed anything. She couldn’t think of anything else. “Great! Where do I sign?”
Mr. Han picked up a folder from a pile. He stood up and went to sit next to Franky, opening the folder on the coffee table. He placed a pen beside the document. “This is a simple probationary agreement. I kept it brief and concise because, ideally, you should be moving in today and starting tomorrow. I highlighted the part that states that you can leave anytime.”
He leaned back slightly, giving her a steady look as she picked up the single sheet of paper. “We know you’re technically not yet allowed to do paid private tutoring on your current visa,” he said, “so we can’t pay you as much as we want to. To compensate, you’ll be living in Ji-han’s house, eating his food, and his driver will take you wherever you need to go. Plus, you’ll receive a reasonable allowance. In short, you won’t be wanting for anything. And if you do—anything at all—you can tell me, and I’ll take care of it. If you’re too embarrassed, you can tell Seo-yeon, and I’ll take care of it.”
Franky’s eyes scanned the crisp black text against the white paper. Almost everything was in bullet points, concise and formal but not intimidating. She started from the top.
“Living arrangements: residence provided, meals included.” Her heart skipped a beat as she imagined a luxury condo, a penthouse, or a mansion.
“Transportation: driver available for commuting and errands.” That was generous, and clearly meant she wouldn’t have to rely on Seoul’s subway labyrinth or taxis after late-night classes.
Her eyes moved down. “Allowance: fixed, weekly, covering personal expenses.” No formal salary, just a stipend, but it made sense. It was framed carefully, probably to avoid violating her student visa restrictions. Her lips curved into a small, appreciative smile. She’d be safe, covered, and independent, without crossing any legal lines.
Next: “Probationary period: one-week trial.” That was the part Ji-han had casually mentioned. She could see it clearly in her mind: one week under observation, a chance to test the arrangement and for him to test her teaching.
“Confidentiality: strict NDA on all personal information and activities.” She nodded. No photos, no gossip. It was expected, and she liked that it was formalized, better than vague promises.
She skimmed further. “Duties: private Spanish tutoring sessions, materials provided, schedule subject to mutual agreement.” Practical, clear, and professional.
“Termination: either party may end the agreement with reasonable notice.” That was fair. She didn’t like traps or obligations that could strangle her freedom.
Finally: “Visa acknowledgment: stipend and living arrangement structured to comply with current student visa limitations.” That made her pause. The clause reassured her—everything here was legitimate. She wasn’t being exploited, and she wasn’t being asked to break the law.
“After a successful probationary period, we’d draft the contract for the longer arrangement and we’d include how you’d be fully compensated.”
Franky leaned back and muttered, “Well... this is absurdly sensible.” She smiled to herself. The contract was basically a manual for surviving life with an A-list celebrity without losing her mind or her freedom.
She picked up the pen and paused. One week of trial. Spanish lessons. Free meals. A driver. A penthouse or the likes. Had she been eligible to work, she could have asked for an absurd amount of money, but she guessed she could settle for having a gorgeous housemate and living on the lap of luxury for now. Not to mention the tuition sponsorship slash nest egg, if ever. She signed it.
As soon as she did, Ji-han handed her his phone with a QR code. “Add me on Kakao.”
Franky promptly got her phone out, opened the app, and scanned the QR. The username simply said Ji-han. She added him and sent him a sticker of a green blob that was supposed to be a dragon, peeking behind a door shyly. Ji-han collected his phone and replied after adding her back. She received a sticker of an adorable fluffy white cat draped on a ball of yarn. She couldn’t believe she was exchanging stickers with Choi Ji-han.
Mr. Han collected the paper. “If you don’t have any questions, a driver is waiting downstairs to take you back to your place, pack, and then bring you to Ji-han’s place.”
Franky racked her brain if there was something she missed but she couldn’t think of any. “No questions for now.”
“You can take your time. Ji-han will not need the driver.”
“What’s the driver’s name?”
“His name is Do-hyun. My secretary will take you down to him if you’re ready.”
Franky stood up and extended a hand to Mr. Han. “Looking forward to working with you.”
Mr. Han shook her hand. “Likewise.”
Ji-han stood up to offer his own hand. “Let’s have dinner tonight, so we can go over my objectives and our schedules.”
Franky shook his hand. “What time?”
He looked at his watch. “How long will it take you to pack?”
“Under an hour, maybe? I don’t have a lot of stuff. And I can just go back and get anything I forget when I go to class.”
“Perfect. I’ll be at home once you get there.”
“I’ll see you then.”
The secretary was already summoned and was waiting for her by the door. Everyone made a quick bow and she went on her way. The secretary mutely led the way which gave her the silence to ponder the kind of situation she had gotten herself into.
By all accounts, this should turn into some romantic comedy, Franky thought. But there was a major plot hole in this story. Such a tiny detail called reality. Not all girls want to marry a prince. That looks good on a storybook page but a prince comes with a royal family that usually prefers an in-law from the same social circle. He also comes with an entirely different lifestyle that a working class girl might find too far from her comfort zone.
When girls dreamed of finding their true love, Franky was dreaming of single-blessedness. She’d have a fairytale cottage close to the sea or in the middle of a forest like Walden Pond, but with wifi. She’d throw a monthly shindig for fellow spinsters.
This might have been bleak for some people but she had always loved solitude. She paused, maybe love was too strong a word. She was used to solitude and she didn’t mind it. She had no siblings and she grew up with her grandparents, so she was used to peace and quiet. Her mom worked abroad for almost the entirety of her life.
Her reminiscence was interrupted when the secretary handed her over to a young man waiting at the lobby. This was a relief because, for a second, she didn’t know in which direction her thoughts were about to wander.
He greeted her with a wide welcoming smile. “Hello. My name is Do-hyun. Nice to meet you.”
Franky beamed. It sounded as if he had taken the time to practice that line. “My name is Franky. Very nice to meet you.”
In broken English, he informed her that he will take her to her place and wait for her to pack, then they will proceed to Ji-han’s residence.
Franky’s smile widened even more. She recognised someone who was willing to learn. She nodded, “Got it.”
“This way please,” he gestured for her to follow him.
Do-hyun appeared younger than her. Franky had to wonder if she should feel relieved to have been assigned a young and enthusiastic driver. She tended to give more five-star ratings to ride-sharing drivers who left her alone. At first meetings, overly extroverted people tended to feel invasive to her but she eventually loved their company.
When they reached the car, a nondescript locally made high-end black car, Do-hyun opened the passenger door for her. Thankfully, he only kept smiling at her every time their eyes met. She smiled back. She quickly opened her phone to Google Choi Ji-han. She scrolled through his Wikipedia page. She was psyched to realize that she had actually met a person that had a Wikipedia entry.
Ji-han was born Choi Ji-han to a British-Korean heiress and a chaebol heir. His British name was Ji-han Julian Choi. He had an older sister and a younger sister. Her eyes went back to the words heiress and heir. Franky took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and closed the tab. It wasn’t enough that he was a highly sought-after actor whose face she saw on huge billboards in Paris and Milan the last time she was there. Of course he was also filthy rich. Some people did have it all, she sighed.
Franky was aware of how prejudice worked. If she read some more, there’d be a mental construct of the man in her mind and her brain would insist it was the right version. The brain always insists that it is right. Knowing that he was a huge celebrity and deep-pocketed at that, already got her brain fine-tuning itself to be ready to react to his rich and pretty privilege.
She took a deep breath to recenter herself. She looked at her phone and wondered if it was weird that she had no social media app. Who would miss her if she went missing? Darn it, she needed a distraction before she turned sad. She looked for cat videos on YouTube.
The car slipped into Daeheung-dong just as the neighborhood was settling into its usual Friday rhythm. The sky was deepening into that bruised indigo between sunset and night, and the streetlights had begun to flicker on, one by one. A quiet hum of life moved through the narrow lanes.
Her apartment stood half-hidden between a tiny convenience store and a pilates studio. A modest four-story red-brick building with aging metal railings and a keypad door that beeped too loudly every time someone came home. Warm light spilled from a few of the windows, silhouettes passing now and then, a student stretching after a long day, an old man turning on the TV for the evening news.
Down the street, Sogang University’s hill was dotted with lights like scattered stars. Students were drifting out for late dinners, laughter floating softly between them. The car slowed to a stop in front of her building.
Franky leaned towards Do-hyun. “I won’t be long.”
He shook his head smiling. “I wait, no worry.”
“Thank you.” Franky scooted out of the car. She didn’t like having someone wait for her, so she was determined to get this over with as fast as she could.
The smell of grilled meat from a neighborhood pojangmacha mixed with the sweetness from the bakery that stayed open late on Fridays. Scooters zipped by, some delivering food to exhausted office workers, some carrying students heading to meet friends. A couple argued playfully near the convenience store. A dog barked somewhere above, probably from a balcony.
The apartment was a walk-up and her tiny studio was on the third floor. She all but ran up the stairs and by the time she got to her floor, she was gasping for air. She punched in her code, removed her shoes when she got in, and dove for the suitcase under her bed because there was nowhere else to put it. Her room had a bed, a desk, and a kitchenette all in the same tiny space. A short and stout neon green fridge stood next to a tall and thin closet. The landlady was generous enough to put in a sofa for one or you could say it was an arm chair for two. A narrow window faced another building. She had a miniscule enclosed bathroom with the shower head over the toilet. The walls of the room were thin, so she was thankful for noise-cancelling earbuds and headphones.
Seo-yeon didn’t approve of this set-up. She wanted her to stay in her place but Franky hated commuting. She suggested staying at the dorms, some of which had excellent facilities, but Franky was allergic to common rooms and shared spaces. In the end, Seo-yeon gave up. When it came to having a place of her own, her stubbornness had no bounds.
Inside her suitcase was a backpack. She flew all the way from Spain with her 7-years worth of possessions packed in a 28-inch suitcase and a 60-liter backpack. She grabbed jeans, shirts, sweaters, and all other essentials. She was debating if she should bring towels when her phone dinged.
Jin-Has’s message simply said, “Pack light. I have everything.”
She wasn’t sure if he wanted to be helpful or if it was an indirect way of saying hurry up, I’m waiting. She replied with a bunny holding up an OKAY sign.
“What do you want for dinner?” said the message after a minute.
“Whatever you’re having,” she texted back.
He replied with a peach-headed cartoon doing the ok sign.
Her large backpack had enough room for her to shove her smaller school backpack into it. In went the laptop next, chargers, headphones and a battered copy of Plato’s “Republic.” She had read it while she was in college and she remembered how surprised she was that it wasn’t as puzzling as Hegel or as mechanical as Aristotle. She found it in a second-hand bookshop nearby, along with an equally tattered copy of Pratchett’s “Small Gods,” which was inside her school bag.
She scouted the room one last time to see if she missed anything essential. Confident that she had everything, she fell onto her tiny but comfy bed to say goodbye.
As soon as she appeared at the entrance with the huge backpack, Do-hyun instantly sprung into action, taking the bag. She tried to refuse but he didn’t let her. He opened the passenger door for her before taking the bag into the trunk.
“We go now?” Do-hyun asked before starting the car.
“Yes.”
As they left the parking area, Do-hyun made small bows, “My English, no good. Sorry.”
“No, not all. I understand your English.” She did two thumbs up to make sure he understood that it was a compliment. Then she said in her well-practiced Korean, “Hangug-eo jal motaeyo.”
“Whoa!” Do-hyun’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your Korean very, very good.”
“Gamsahamnida. I can help you with your English. You can help me with my Korean, yes?” She said it extra slowly because of its length.
Do-hyun’s face lit up even brighter. “Yes, yes. Thank you very, very much.” When she responded positively, he added, “Hmm...time you stay in Korea? Hmm... Hanguk-e on ji eolmana doesyeosseoyo?”
“Oh, say, ‘How long have you been in Korea?’ How long...”
“How long...” he repeated.
“Have you been...”
“Have you been...”
“In Korea?”
“In Korea?”
“How long have you been in Korea?”
Do-hyun repeated slowly but without any mistake.
“Wanbyeok-haeyo!” she praised.
“Wanbyeok-hae is ok,” he beamed.
The ride became an impromptu language exchange session. Franky was pretty sure Do-hyun read a dossier of her, but she appreciated the interest in both her and the English language. Or maybe he was sizing her up. No matter, she still enjoyed the conversation. Although she was learning Korean, her priorities were listening and reading rather than speaking, so this was a nice change.
After over half an hour, the car glided off the main road and into a discreet driveway. The turn was so subtle that if you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss it entirely. A bronze plaque was recessed into the stone wall, engraved with SINCLAIR HANNAM in understated serif lettering.
Franky caught the sign and immediately googled it. Situated in the U.N. Village, The Sinclair Han River Residence was a luxury hotel frequented by Hollywood celebrities and foreign dignitaries. She was a little confused why they were going to a hotel.
The driveway curved gently beneath a broad canopy of dark timber slats, the warm downlights casting soft amber pools on the pavement. Even at night, mid-May carried a mildness in the air. A faint breeze stirred the bamboo hedges that lined the entrance, rustling through manicured pines and glinting off smooth river stones.
A bellman in a charcoal, hanbok-inspired uniform stepped forward as the car rolled to a stop. He opened the passenger door. Another person was handed the car key by Do-hyun as he got off and headed for the trunk. He refused help politely. He told the bellman he got it from here and the bellman bowed at them. The city noise sat just beyond the property line, dimmed as though someone turned a dial down.
Inside the lobby, the temperature shifted to a cool hush. It felt serene and impossibly expensive without a hint of showmanship. Franky’s heartbeat accelerated. She had been to most European countries but as a backpacker. The elegance and muted luxury was making her heart and head pound.
The pale honed-stone floors reflected the soft, indirect lighting. The air smelled faintly of hinoki and citrus. Along one entire wall, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Han River at night. Dark water moving under scattered reflections of city lights like slow strokes of ink. There was no bustling reception desk. Just a minimalist concierge alcove recessed into oak paneling, where two staff members bowed in greeting without stepping forward.
They didn’t approach Franky and Do-hyun. They might have been instructed not to do so. A manager, tailored suit, quiet confidence, the demeanor of someone who could just as easily work in wealth management, stepped forward and bowed.
“Welcome, Ms. Luna. My name is Park Seung-min. I am the manager of the Sinclair Residence. I will be personally responsible for anything you need during your stay.” He hands her a QR code on a slim, discreet card. “I am available 24/7.”
For a second, Franky was too astonished to respond. Finally she mustered a thank you. He bowed again as he extended a hand forward. Do-hyun guided her down a corridor that felt more like a private gallery: curated Korean pottery, modern abstract pieces, everything intentionally placed, nothing labeled. A few people glided across the floor in suits and evening dresses, or cool designer casual wear. Franky felt so underdressed in jeans and hoody.
At the end waited a private elevator in matte brass, unadorned, without visible buttons. Do-hyun tapped a card on a hidden panel; the doors opened without a sound. Inside, the walls were dark wood, lit gently from above. There was only a narrow mirror, no music, no display panels. When the doors shut, the city disappeared entirely, as if sealed outside.
“This is a hotel?” Franky tried to confirm with Do-hyun.
“Yes.”
“Ji-han stays here?”
“His house up,” he pointed up.
She was indeed going to stay at a penthouse. But of a hotel?
The elevator doors slid open without a sound. Franky stepped out first, expecting some grand reveal—floor-to-ceiling windows, marble, chandeliers. Something expensive enough to blind her. Instead, she walked intoquiet. A small foyer, barely larger than a hallway. Warm light, soft underfoot. A single ink-wash landscape hung on the wall, the kind you had to look at twice before it revealed anything. It didn’t feel like a penthouse. It felt like someone’s fortress of solitude.
Do-hyun stepped past her and pushed the doorbell before keying open the inner door. The space opened gently into the main room. Ji-han appeared, walking towards them. He was in gray silk pajamas rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Do-hyun gestured at a pair of red velvet slippers on the floor, in front of a shoe rack. Franky removed her shoes and slipped into the slippers.
As he put down her backpack, Do-hyun eagerly told him in Korean that he had an English lesson during the drive. He called him ‘hyung,’ older brother. Again, Franky took note of the closeness. He whispered something in Ji-han’s ear and Ji-han whispered something back. Do-hyun mumbled under his breath before walking up to her and saying, “See you tomorrow.” His tomorrow had a slight British accent.
Franky grinned. “See ya.”
Do-hyun left and Ji-han picked up her backpack. He led her inside.
The living–dining area wasn’t big, definitely smaller than she expected for a man who, on screen, looked like he belonged in a place with ballroom ceilings. But everything here was deliberate. A low modern sofa anchored the room, set against soft wood tones, facing a lacquered coffee table that caught the light like ink on water.
One wall was lined with bookshelves where she’d expected pretentious art. They didn’t scream intellectual; they felt lived-in, touched, handled.
The shelves ran along the wall leading up to a wide window that framed the night skyline and the dark ribbon of the Han River. A low daybed ran along the glass, simple and upholstered, clearly meant for lying down with a book or staring out at the city when sleep refused to come. Beside it, slightly set back, was a working desk oriented toward the view outside.
Ji-han stopped in the middle and put down her bag. He slightly opened his arms. “Welcome to my home.” He stood there as if waiting for her inspection. She obliged.
To the right, a tiny dining table for two. Not four. Not eight. Functional, personal. Almost shy. There was food on the table. Hanji-panel doors led to a small balcony, their frosted glow softening the night from outside. The air felt warm, almost candlelit, though there were no candles, just hidden lighting, placed with intent.
The kitchenette tucked neatly behind the dining nook was compact but expensive in the quiet way: hidden appliances, a tiny induction cooktop, an espresso machine that probably cost more than her rent. No clutter. No sign of anyone ever hosting a party. It was a space made for one person who didn’t need much but needed it at arm’s reach.
Beyond the living room, he gestured down a short corridor. “My room is that way,” he said softly, almost unnecessarily. To the other direction he said, “That’s staff access.”
At the end of the hall, a discreet panel blended into the wall. It was just wide enough for laundry deliveries, housekeeping, and room service. Silent service routes for people who needed to disappear from his world.
He picked up her bag again and led her in the direction of his room. He stopped at a door across from his and opened it. “This is yours. Dinner in ten?”
She nodded, “OK.”
He left.
The guest bedroom was surprisingly warm. A proper queen bed. Soft modern décor. A writing desk tucked near the window, the kind that invited quiet thoughts. A wardrobe built for practicality rather than display. The en-suite bathroom was simple. Premium, but not indulgent. It was equipped with shampoo, conditioner, shower cream and even an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste. It was a shower only. Functional. She bet he had a bath or jacuzzi in his bathroom. But this room wasn’t a spare room meant to impress visiting VIPs. It was a room someone had prepared for intimate relations. Perhaps close friends and family.
Franky dropped herself onto the bed and exhaled slowly. This wasn’t wealth the way she understood it. This was wealth that avoided mirrors. It didn’t brag because it didn’t need to. Ji-han had looked at her as if he wasn’t sure what she thought of all this. She wasn’t sure either. With another deep breath, she sprung up for dinner.
Ji-han was already at the dining table with a tablet and papers at his part of the table. On the other side was the small spread of food. Grilled chicken breast, lightly seasoned, no oil, served sliced. On another plate were steamed broccoli, zucchini, and asparagus. There was a small portion of sweet potato. Soup was a clear seaweed soup. There was a cup of green tea and a glass of warm water. It took The Force to keep her from frowning or expressing an ounce of disappointment or complaint.
But she must have not been successful because Ji-han said, “You said whatever I was having. We can reorder if you want.”
She shook her head vehemently. “It’s fine. All good. But you’re not eating?”
“I already ate at samchon’s office.”
“So you’ll just watch me eat?”
“You eat and listen. I discuss the job assignment.”
Franky nodded and started with the soup. She was already thinking about what fattening food to eat for breakfast in the morning.
Ji-han opened a spring-bound A4-size booklet in front of her. “Okay, so this is the English version of a table-read script and this is the series,” he said, tapping the title. “La Heredera del Mar del Este. The Heiress of the East Sea.”
He waited, because she obviously recognized the Spanish. “Our female lead is Alicia Valderrama,” he continued. “A Latin American heiress. Shipping empire. Coffee exports. Real global weight.”
“Who’s playing her?” Franky watched a few telenovelas and movies while she was in Spain. Latin American productions were also common there. Maybe she knew the actress.
“Valentina Araya. You know her?”
“Only because she was in that series that blew up globally. I’m familiar with some of her work.” She chewed begrudgingly at the asparagus.
He flipped to the character list. “Her father dies—apparently a heart attack, but we find out very early it wasn’t natural. He left behind an encrypted ledger. Half the entries are in Spanish, half in Korean. So she comes to Korea to track down whoever killed him.”
He gestured lightly.
“This isn’t a romance-first show. She’s not here to fall in love with anyone. She’s powerful, suspicious, guarded. The story follows her investigation, and I—my character—get dragged into the mess professionally.” He tapped the second name on the cast page. “I play Prosecutor Kang Hyun-woo. Maritime crimes. Cold, controlled, never loses.”
A small shrug. “He grew up in Chile because his father was a diplomat. That’s why I have to speak Spanish. A lot of it.” He glanced at her—deadly serious. “I can’t sound like an idiot next to a world-class Latina actress. So that’s why you’re here.”
“Wait,” Franky interrupted. “Chile? I speak Castellano.”
He turned a page to the series overview that production added for marketing teams. “We’ll get to that. Basically, Alicia discovers her father used Korean ports as the clean end of a dirty pipeline. Money laundering, smuggling, fraudulent routes. Someone in a huge Korean conglomerate is involved. Someone respected. Untouchable.”
He tapped the margin. “So it becomes her versus the system. And me stuck between duty and... her.” He cleared his throat. “There is chemistry, of course. They work together. Clash culturally. Don’t trust each other.”
Another small shrug—almost embarrassed. “It’s subtle. Not corny. Just that slow-burn tension Latin audiences love.” He leaned back. “But the real heart is the investigation. Busan docks, Incheon ports, Gangnam penthouses, ships at night... very atmospheric.”
A pause. He met her eyes. “So if I butcher the Spanish, the whole illusion collapses. I need to be good.” He nodded to the cover page again. “That’s the job.”
Franky almost grimaced at the zucchini but she hid it behind a curious squint that was truly curious. “How did you get this job?”
His lips twisted and Franky blushed. She was experiencing star power first hand. Finally, he said. “I auditioned, of course. I got the audition script and called an old college buddy of mine to help me out. He’s Venezuelan. I called him at two in the morning Korea time. The bastard picked up on the first ring. He thought I was dying.” A tiny smile slipped out. “I sent him the audition lines. He didn’t even read them first. He performed them. Gave me options. Angry version, icy version, broken-hearted version... one where he was, I swear, trying to seduce the villain. Then he laughed at me for about ten minutes straight.”
He shrugged in defeat. “And I just... copied him. Perfectly, I suppose. Breath, pauses, attitude, even the emotional drop right before the last line. I didn’t truly understand a single thing I was saying, but apparently I sounded ‘magnetic.’ Their word, not mine.”
He looked at Franky, resigned. “That’s why I need you. Tomás can’t keep saving my ass and he’s Venezuelan.”
Then she remembered that detail. “But your Spanish needs to be Chilean.”
He nodded. “They hired a dialect coach for that. But I see him online only three times a week for an hour each time. That’s exactly what I need you for tomorrow. You’re reinforcement, basically.”
“Let me hear a line in Spanish,” Franky tested.
It was as if a switch was suddenly turned on. He said, “No me importa tu apellido ni tu fortuna. Si estás involucrada, te haré caer con ellos.”
Franky involuntarily gasped. It was strong, cold, and intense. The ’r’s rolled effortlessly. I don’t care about your last name or your fortune. If you’re involved, I’ll make you fall with them.He sounded as if he came straight out of a telenovela. “Do another one.”
There was a brief pause before he delivered. “Yo no temía a los criminales, Alicia. Temía que, al encontrar al responsable... terminara encontrando una parte de mí que prefería no ver.”
There was a quiver in his voice, as if holding himself back, on the verge of breaking.I was never afraid of the criminals, Alicia. I was afraid that in finding the one responsible... I’d end up finding a part of myself I didn’t want to see.Franky silently admitted he had just elevated the acting profession in her eyes. “Wait, do they know you can’t actually speak Spanish?”
He nodded once. “I confessed right after I got the part.”
“And?”
“Both the director and Valentina were impressed. The rest didn’t matter. In 12 days, Valentina will be flying in to do this table read.” He tapped at the script. “If I fail to impress them again, I will have to withdraw from the project and pay an exorbitant amount of money to compensate for any delay and inconvenience my incompetence and deception have caused.”
Franky sat back against the chair. She just stared at him for a while trying to figure out how insane and sexy the guy was. She started to say something but it evaporated even before it could come out of her mouth. The impossibility of the whole situation was scrambling her brain.
“I would really love for me to succeed,” he finally said. “But if I fail, I will not hold you liable for my financial loss. If you can’t take the pressure—”
“No, we’ll be fine.” The clarity and confidence surprised even herself.
Again, a tiny smile slipped out of his mouth. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “If you could deliver perfect lines just from phone calls and recordings, surely with me around, you’ll do better than perfect.” And she meant it.
He looked down, still smiling, now a bit shy. He nodded. “Ok. This might work.”
She had a feeling he just used the word ‘might’ for her sake. She had a feeling that this guy does not fail.
He pushed the opened script towards her. “This is your copy. The online meeting is at 7 in the morning. We’ll do it on the sofa.”
He stood up without waiting for a reply. “Leave the dishes in the sink, someone will clean it up.”
“I can wash them, if I want?”
“Your call. Good night. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.” When he disappeared into the corridor, Franky melted into the chair. She stared at the ceiling for a good three minutes, looking at one spot. It was the only type of half-assed meditation she was capable of. Three minutes of pulling back her thoughts and repeating the word “nothing” in her mind to convince herself to think of absolutely nothing. When she could no longer hold out, she checked her watch. It was only a little past nine.
She pushed herself up and cleared the table. She took a mental note to never eat what a celebrity is eating again. She made sure she disposed of the waste properly, remembering that the host abhorred mess. Again, she focused on the dish-washing to keep her mind from wandering. But with a dish-washer, it was a brief respite. Next, she tried to look for food she could actually enjoy. Maybe a stash of junk food in a drawer or a tub of ice cream in the freezer.
But there was nothing of the sort. The fridge was almost empty except for milk and cheese and maybe some health supplement. Green little bottles; she wasn’t sure what they were. The freezer was a dead zone. There were no chips, not even crackers. She wouldn’t even ask him how he felt about junk food. He’d just have to live with it or else he would have to deal with a corpse. Sugar and empty calories were the only indulgence she allowed herself, especially under stress.
She took the script back to her room. She set the alarm for 6. That would give her 30 minutes to snooze. She took a shower and read the script while drying her hair. When her hair was all dry, she searched for Chilean Spanish on YouTube and the next thing she knew, it was one in the morning. She needed to sleep.
